Time has passed, Rain tapped their shoulders by hiromi suzuki

Time has passed, Rain tapped their shoulders by hiromi suzuki

Eli T. Mond, "Pseudo-Surreality No. 1" (2018)

Eli T. Mond, "Pseudo-Surreality No. 1" (2018)

Pseudo-Surreality No. 1

HERE, there is no REVOLUTION.

HERE, only the SAME REMAINS.

HERE, the only TRUTH is RITUAL

—SACRIFICE, the only ACTION.

HERE, the SMOKE is HEAVY.

HERE, the voice is RED ATHAME.

HERE, the only DEATH is DYING.

The lies hidden in the shallows by hiromi suzuki

hiromi suzuki is a poet, artist living in Tokyo, Japan.  A member of "gui" (run by members of "VOU" group of poets, founded by the late Katsue Kitasono). Author of Ms. cried, 77 poems by hiromi suzuki (kisaragi publishing, 2013 ISBN978-4-901850-42-1) and art book of visual poetry, logbook (Hesterglock Press, 2018 ISBN 978-1-9999153-1-5). Her works are published internationally in Otoliths, BlazeVOX, Empty Mirror, Experiment-O, M58, DATABLEED, Black Market Re-View, Burning House Press, h&, BRAVE NEW WORD magazine, DODGING THE RAIN, Jazz Cigarette, TAPE HISS zine, The Arsonist Magazine, MOONCHILD MAGAZINE, Parentheses Journal, Angry Old Man Magazine, Coldfront Magazine, 3:AM Magazine, Obra/Artifact, Utsanga.it magazine, Visual Verse, The Projectionist's Playground zine, NationalPoetryMonth.ca 2015 / 2017, and Poem Brut at Rich Mix London 2017, amongst other places.

web site: hiromisuzukimicrojournal.tumblr.com

Twitter : @HRMsuzuki

Afternoon thunderstorm

Devouring the reddened sky-
Loose tangle (knotted throats)
Of feathered wind - tongue
Stuck to the screendoor.

The gnawing apart of driftwood-
Of bone (of erection)
Of salted mica shards - battered -
Lips coated in morning.

The (tumbling of) fall - listless
Saguaros, restless, pale in
The autumn light - smoldering.

Moth Tongue

Flick - of battered salt wing.

Mouth curved open in the waning -
        Light.
                                     in the waning -
        Heat.

This dust, gathering on palm,
Frond of bone plated moon.

Scattering of smoke - wisp -
As street lamp gorges,
       Snipping moths, tongues

Splayed like sunset.